“The Raven?” Morgan gave her a little side eye.

  “Roll with it.” Evanne smoothed her burned hand against her leather tunic, feeling for a different Trick, the way the words needed to roll off her tongue. “We are people of pragmatism. We could offer you much, but as partners. Not as slaves.”

  “You’re insane,” choked Ed. It sounded like grrl insurrrl, what with Gyles’ hand about her neck.

  “Those who don’t rule don’t understand.” Evanne offered a wide smile.

  “I could take what I want, as I always have.”

  Evanne nodded, not really disagreeing. “Perhaps a convincer?” She turned her tone harsh. “Pakhet! Come!”

  The huge tiger popped back into visibility, a slightly guilty expression on her face. “What?”

  “Kill him.” Evanne waved her hand at Gyles.

  The vampire lord, having no real idea how to read a tiger’s expression, or know the great cat was terrified of butterflies, held Eden between him and the tiger. “A moment.”

  “And so we stand.” Evanne nodded, pacing in time to the Trick she needed. “Here it is, Gyles. We need passage through your land, three good horses—nothing lame or old, do you understand?—and a guide. We need to get to Hollyhead lake, and we need to do it quickly.”

  “Why Hollyhead?” Gyles narrowed his eyes. “Why not coin instead? And what do I get out of it?”

  “You get to live, first.” Evanne looked down her nose at him. “Or, close to it.”

  “You have a plan,” Morgan said sotto voce as Evanne’s steps took her in front of the Raven. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

  Evanne kept her pacing up. “The other thing you get is an ally in the Queen of Or’sen. And your mutually beneficial arrangement will bring a ready supply of food—and by that, I mean living people with blood inside them. We get your knowledge. How the ancients worked, where they kept their wonders, and how to demand service from this ragged husk of a world.” For emphasis, she slapped fist in palm. Too much? It felt like too much.

  Gyles’ eyes widened though, the vampire lord growing thoughtful. “Aye. This approach pleases me.”

  Tarragon hissed, “If he knew the secrets of the ancients, he would have⁠—”

  “He had not the support nor the loyalty of his vassals to unlock the ancient’s power,” Evanne declared. “We bring him both.”

  Heser the Cheg cleared his throat. “Normally I provide a voice of counsel against my queen’s more rash statements, but⁠—”

  “Please tell me of these statements.” Morgan’s voice was honeysuckle sweet.

  Heser the Cheg blanched, but like any man of action, charged right into danger. “There was that one time you said⁠—”

  “I think she was being rhetorical,” Evanne suggested.

  “Right.” The man cleared his throat and looked Evanne right in the eye. “You are talking as if you’ve had a head injury.”

  Evanne smiled wider. She smiled with radiance, warmth, and satisfaction. She smiled like the crescent sun, which chose that moment to nose above the horizon.

  Gyles turned into an incandescent pyre. Eden screamed, which was good because it meant she wasn’t on fire and also didn’t have a hand around her throat anymore. Black, oily smoke belched from the creature, and he screamed counterpoint to her, but just once.

  Then he exploded into flaming hunks of gore.

  Evanne brushed a chunk from her lapel, picked up her guitar, and asked of no one in particular, “Where can I get more guitar strings?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It’s been a big day. Tarragon fluttered about the old broken-down farmstead. She couldn’t get much height, so it was hard to tell what’d killed it back in the day. Fire? Plague? The Bigs of this age are without basic medicine or tools. They struggle so.

  She roosted on a windowsill with broken fangs of glass still in place. No, not ‘this’ age. It’s just … now. What I knew before is gone. It is more gone than Gyles.

  She gave a tiny smile, thinking about how the vampire lord turned into a greasy residue, then took flight again. Her wings buzzed, no longer true, and she knew she needed to stop throwing herself into harm’s way. They made me small. They also made me fierce, and the two don’t mix. Not anymore. Not in this ‘now’.

  The sounds of merriment reached her on the early morning air. The people of Gyles’ keep were free. Morgan had seen to that, because Evanne had seen to her freedom. They looked the kind of folk who would make merry with ale, but it was breakfast time, so they were making do with open fires, eggs, bacon, and crusty bread. It smelled really good, and Tarragon knew she should eat something.

  I don’t want to. I don’t want to be here.

  There was something missing from the laughter, so she buzzed around the corner of the farmstead to see what was going on. She hovered in place, struggling with it a bit as the breeze caught her, but she gritted tiny teeth and held herself steady, bung wing and all. Yep, people. Lots of Bigs. She scanned the crowd, seeing smiles, worn though they might be, and a lot of people getting to know each other.

  Under Gyles, they were slaves. They were made anew into what he needed, and now they were back to what they’d been. But because Bigs thought they owned the world, a lack of identity didn’t bother them as much as it might a tiny fairy eight hundred years out of place. They were all just kind of mucking in and getting to know each other. At the heart of it was Ed, the ‘guard captain’, who was nothing of the sort. Her bill of materials was mightier than most Bigs, but it’s because she loved horses and knew hard work well enough.

  Ah. Tarragon smacked a tiny fist into palm. That’s what’s wrong. The centre is Eden, not Evanne. Where is she?

  The fairy rose higher, cocking an ear for music, but got nothing. Over there, Morgan and the gentle man inside a warrior’s shell. Beyond, a flattened patch of grass that looked like where an invisible giant tiger might be grooming. She flitted further. The faintest glimmer of blue caught her eye by an old oak at the edge of a field.

  She hummed as she drew closer. Sure enough, Hitch’s lantern rested in the nook of the old oak. But no Evanne. She was going to fly away, but the lantern said, “Hold a moment.”

  Tarragon frowned. I shouldn’t be churlish. I can’t even remember anymore why I don’t like him. She settled to the ground by the lantern. The morning sun hadn’t warmed the ground yet. Dew drops clung to grass. She clambered up the roots of the tree, feeling the age of the craggy bark. Settling herself, she glared at the lantern. Just because I don’t hate him anymore doesn’t mean he has to know that. “What?”

  “Can you get me out?”

  She snorted. “Morgan needs to do that.”

  “The Raven Queen thinks a talking lantern is ‘neat’. I fear I will stay here forever.”

  Tarragon frowned. “Your voice sounds … thinner. Everything okay in there?”

  “Not really.” She imagined his shrug, those not-hands shoved into pockets. “I’m a memory of what used to be a man. I’m not … alive. Not in any way that matters.”

  “Do you need a hug, or…?” She let the question hang.

  He laughed. “I do, sprite. But it won’t happen until I see my love on the other side of time.” This sounded a bit melancholy even for a ghost. Hitch seemed to realise it and tried harder. “Hah. Listen to me. It’s like I’m afraid of dying or something.”

  “That was a bit weak.”

  “Just like me, hey?”

  Tarragon laughed. “Neither of us are made for heavy lifting.” She swung her legs against the tree bark. It was rough, but she didn’t mind. I can still feel. He can’t. “What is it you need, spectre? It’s not someone to let you out. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  The lantern was silent so long she thought he’d decided not to answer. “I need a favour.”

  “I’m the person least likely in the whole world, and I mean the entire planet, to give you a favour.”

  “True as that is, I think you might do this one small thing for me.” She imagined him pacing. “Thing is, I don’t think I have much time. Evanne is growing. She gets bigger, and I get smaller. No, don’t interrupt. I don’t mind, Tarragon. I think it’s why I’m here. But … when I’m gone, see? There won’t be anyone else. So, will you stay with her? Will you be her guide in this place, shepherding her against the ills of the old world?”

  “Umm,” Tarragon said.

  “That’s better than a no.”

  “I don’t know why you’d ask me.” Tarragon looked down. “I failed my exams, Hitch! I am the most worthless fairy that ever lived. I know how to use a blade, but no one makes fun-sized razors anymore. I don’t do anything. I am the least important person in her life.”

  The lantern looked at her for a long time. She looked right back. The lantern gave in first. “I don’t think you understand what’s going on between you two.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means not everyone needs to kill monsters to be useful. Sometimes, it’s the people who kill the least that are most needed.”

  “You’re a cryptic light source.”

  “I’m not supposed to be in a lantern!”

  Tarragon looked up. The boughs above her were a gentle protector. Light leaked through the oak’s leaves, dappling the ground. She put a hand against the bark. I wonder what stories you’d tell if you could speak. “I don’t know if I can do what you want. But I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Cool.” Hitch sounded relieved. “Really cool.”

  “You don’t even like me.”

  “Tarragon, you annoy the shit out of me, but every time Evanne looks at you her face lights up like Cophine’s moon. Lustrous, brilliant, and full of hope. She looks like that at no other. Three save me, but I think I love you. Worse, I think Evanne loves you too.”

  “Umm.” Tarragon hopped down, walking to the lantern. “You’re a weird person.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you know where she is?” Tarragon put a hand on the lantern’s glass. Inside, impossible pressure. Heat, light, and pain. She could feel it, like the sun against the palm of her hand.

  “Not from in here.”

  “You should’ve said.” Tarragon walked around the lantern, found the latch, flipped it, and pulled the door open.

  The lantern shuddered, then hopped like a kettle over-boiling. It skittled around a moment, then Hitch hissed out like steam. He formed beside her, looking down at his not hands, pale blue eyes wide. “You could do that? Why didn’t you do it earlier?”

  “A talking lantern is cool.”

  “I take it all back. I hate you.”

  “Good talk.” Tarragon tapped her foot. “Where’s Evanne?”

  I can’t believe he left me. The spectre had ghosted, leaving Tarragon beside a dead lantern in the middle of a field. He’d done it with a jaunty probably-a-wave-but-difficult-to-tell-because-he-didn’t-have-hands, then vanished.

  He went to find Evanne first.

  Tarragon spent the next while buzzing about, then decided to annoy Pakhet. She found where the tiger was because it was an empty sunny spot beside the festivities of breakfast. It was the sort of place treats could go missing and was about the size of a giant Big-eating creature. The grass looked crushed, as if someone of significant weight were sleeping there. A slight drone hung on the air.

  Tarragon settled on the tiger, which elicited a heavy sigh from the invisible creature. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Simple.” Tarragon counted on her fingers. “Flattened grass, no people, and you snore.”

  “I do not snore. At best, I have a gentle buzz.” Pakhet came into view, all grey-black majesty and huge fangs. Tarragon found she was sitting on the tiger’s rump, giving her an excellent view of said fangs as the feline yawned.

  “You don’t need to do that all the time you know.”

  “Yawn? I like yawning.”

  “Yawning with intent.” Tarragon sat, a little glimmer settling on the tiger’s pelt. It shone like motes of sun against the night. “You do it a lot.”

  The cat looked down on her for a moment, then stared at the crowd, who more or less ignored her. “Do you know why I … yawn with intent, was it?” At Tarragon’s nod, the cat shook her great head. “I don’t fight, fairy. I don’t like to fight. I hate it. Fighting leads to screaming, and people getting hurt, and there was that one time I got punched in the nose.”

  “Evanne got you good.”

  The tiger settled giant head on equally giant paws. “They made me to fight. Didn’t ask me. Just did it. But they left something out of the mix. I know how, Tarragon Greyflight. I know which part of my claws go where to pull the tasty red from inside someone. But it scares me.”

  “You’re … scared?” Tarragon blinked.

  “I’m scared,” Pakhet agreed. “I am scared almost all the time. I came from a world that is eight hundred years dead. I was made to keep the wounded soldiers of the last, great war safe while they recovered. All,” she chuffed a laugh, “so they could go back and do it again. Then something happened. I went to sleep before they could finish the job and when I awoke, I had no courage. So, here I am.”

  Tarragon leaned her head on hand. “They made me wrong, too. No wonder they lost the war. I was a Builder. I make machines and reactors. Anything breaks, that’s me, fixing it. Except I can’t. I’m like a hammer without a head. The haft might fit well in the hand, but you can’t do anything with it.” She sighed.

  “You do a good sigh.”

  “Thank you.” They sat in silence while the Bigs finished breakfast and drifted off in ones and twos to start more trouble they’d need a fairy to get them out of. Soon, there was almost no one left, except for Eden, who sat alone at a table near the middle of the field enjoying the dregs of probably-coffee. “Do you think she wonders why she’s here? She wasn’t a guard captain but did guarding just fine without a Manifest. Are Bigs different to us?

  “In every way. They believe themselves above. Better than. Made to rule, and when they ran out of people to lord over, they made things to collar and chain.” The cat sneered, a hint of giant fangs behind it. “I’m glad their empires fell. We are better for it, despite my fear. And I think they gave me that too.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tarragon perked up.

  “I think I’m supposed to be afraid of them. Some of them, anyway. The ones who hold the leash and lash. They were supposed to tell me, ‘go there, do that’, and I’d obey because of the fear they put in me. The Manifest would have said who I feared and who I loved, and I’d follow it until I died doing what they wanted. So, here I sit, in this very nice field, enjoying the sun, and the company of a fey of impossible beauty, wondering where the world will take us next.”

  Tarragon boggled. “Umm.”

  “Don’t fret, little one.” Pakhet turned gemstone eyes on her. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not saying that to make you scared. I’m saying that because I feel comfortable around you. One broken machine finding peace with another.”

  “I see.” Tarragon snapped her fingers. “You let Gyles get into your head.”

  “Gyles was just telling the truth. We were made, but those who set atom to atom, building us mote by mote, are gone. We can be at peace.”

  Tarragon thought about that for a long time, until Eden finished her coffee, gave a wave, and set off toward the keep. A butterfly made its flitting way across the field, carried by the warm morning air. She watched a bee buzz nearby. Then Tarragon stood, stretched, and smiled. “I know what I’m going to do next.”

  “You’re going to fly somewhere so I can nap in peace?”

  “I’m going to find Evanne, and we’re going to save what’s left of the world.”

  “Huh. I⁠—”

  “And you’re going to come with us.”

  “You what now?” The tiger seemed confused, rearing to stare down her nose at Tarragon.

  “We like having you around. We don’t need you to fight anyone. Evanne hasn’t asked anyone to do anything they don’t want to do. She doesn’t want what they were made for, but what they yearn to be. She sees that in us.” Tarragon bent, touching the tiger’s fur. It was coarse enough, but soft deeper in. “In you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You’re wrong, you know. About courage, I mean.” Tarragon took to the air, gritting her teeth at how her wing pulled her from her customary graceful swoop. “You came with us across a desert. Do you remember when you climbed into the Artifice for the first time? And then you walked into a vampire’s castle. You’ve done a zillion amazing things that need courage. Just because you don’t want to kill people doesn’t make you afraid.”

  The tiger watched her hover. “You don’t know what it feels like.”

  Tarragon touched her stomach. “Water, here. Nothing but ice in your veins. Your hands, or paws I guess, shake. You can’t think. Running seems good, but so does hiding.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’ll find Evanne and we can set off.” Tarragon gave Pakhet a wave, then headed for the warmer air above. It was going to be a good day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The part of the field Evanne lurked in was empty. She’d chosen it for that reason. It was a long way beyond the barn, where old bales of hay were trying to decay in peace. She heard the sound of people being free, and it felt good, but the good wasn’t as big as the bad of Quinton dying. So, Evanne brooded. She knew she did it well; it was a Trick like any other, but she meant it this time. I don’t know what to do next. There are people here who need help, but I’m on a mission to save the whole world, not just this part of it. The thought chafed at her. So many people needed so much, and she’d barely crested sixteen summers. I don’t know how to do it all. The thing inside her that was Vhemin hissed, We do what we must.

  The hay bale she used as a stoop felt uncomfortable, so she stood. Her hand went to the scar on her chest above her heart, where Requiem had parted her flesh and left her bleeding out her last. She felt the steady thump, thump beneath her fingertips, and realised: It wasn’t the Vhemin in me that snarled. It was the human piece. The bit that gives a shit for those outside of the tribe.